Thursday, November 29, 2012

A Talk on the Hill

Thanksgiving, 2012

It
seems to be our lot in life at the moment to be in a vortex of death and dying.
None of it is wholly unexpected. Most of the people involved have had long and
full loves. Still, the confluence of so many loved ones on watch at the same
time—a perverse bit of natural economy, if you ask me—is a test of one’s
fortitude.

When
families are separated by hundreds of miles, it can be tough to have frank
discussions about the kinds of things families have to talk about in such
circumstances. Besides, nobody wants to have these “final” discussions, as if they’re
an admission of the mortality of people who’ve been such constants in your life,
and whose personalities, appearances and genetic markers explain so much of why
you’re you.

All
of my wife’s siblings, their spouses, all but one of their children and a
favorite aunt and uncle gathered in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia last
week to share Thanksgiving with my mother-in-law and her husband, both of whom
are in the final stages of terminal diseases.

It
was a wonderful gathering. Since everyone was traveling some distance to be
there, a local supermarket prepared the food. Outside of a few traditional
dishes that no one in the family was willing to go without, preparation
consisted mostly of heating things up. It was likely the first Thanksgiving
meal since her childhood that my mother-in-law did not have a big part in
preparing. This bothered her at first, but she soon settled down to enjoy the
pleasure of spending time with her grandchildren while her children did all the
heavy lifting.

After
dinner there was a furious bit of dishwashing and cleaning up before the ritual
turning on of the television to watch football.
Those of us who don’t follow football closely decided to go out and take
a walk. My mother-in-law lives on a foothill opposite Tinker Mountain. It’s a
beautiful site and it was a warm and clear day.

After
a while some of the walkers decided to take a break and sit in the sun. There
was small talk at first, punctuated by the kind of laughter than comes from
recalling both poignant and embarrassing moments in family history. But
conversation eventually turned to the serious matters at hand. Decisions and
plans were made. Responsibilities were divvied up.

Eventually
the sun dropped behind the mountain and everyone wandered back up to the house for dessert.